


drunk

by trashiestnerdlord



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Not Shippy, morty has to take care of him, rated t because vomit and alcoholism, rick gets drunk, this is honestly just an old thing i wrote and actually finished
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 16:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8540644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashiestnerdlord/pseuds/trashiestnerdlord
Summary: 'the man vaguely wonders when he had gotten there, in the garage, in his chair. the thought is quickly forgotten, it doesn't matter anyways.'





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first story published to this site! i had originally uploaded it to tumblr, but i guess i deleted it? i'm not sure. 
> 
> anyways! this is an old thing i wrote and it's one of the few things i've actually finished in a really long time.
> 
> this isn't rick/morty. i can't stop you if you interpret it that way, but keep it to yourself, please. 
> 
> anyways, enjoy!

the man vaguely wonders when he had gotten there, in the garage, in his chair. the thought is quickly forgotten, it doesn't matter anyways. he pulls out the flask, taking several deep swigs of whatever he had last put in there, he does not remember. it doesn't matter anyways. the flask, which the man's sure was full when he'd pulled it out, is very suddenly empty. his leaking mouth twists into a deep frown. he needs more.

standing on very unsteady legs, he stumbles his way into the kitchen. when had it gotten to be so late? it is dark and no one seems to be awake. it doesn't matter anyways, the man has better things to think about. like trying to remember where he'd put his whiskey. whiskey? no. he needs something stronger than that. opening his cabinet, the old man lazily rummages about the variety of alien foods and drink. finally, he finds what he's looking for in the form of a rather average-looking bottle. it is the strongest liquor across the multiverse, and he has one of the very last bottles of it, as the company had been sued for its liquor being 'too potent'. how had he gotten a hold of such an alcohol? he couldn't remember. it doesn't matter.

he doesn't even bother pouring it into his flask. he wastes no time twisting open the calaxine-wax seal and taking a huge drink straight from the bottle--

and he immediately retches. the man falls to his hands and knees as the entirety of his stomach's contents are forced out of his mouth, and most of what had been in there was the alcohol he'd consumed throughout the day. his throat feels as though holes were being burned through it, and tears involuntarily leak from his eyes. his limbs shake violently, and he can hardly keep himself from collapsing into his own bile.

the world is tilting, and everything is blurry. he pushes himself only about a foot from his mess before he falls to the floor. the man sobs on the ground, unaware that he is doing so. everything hurts. he'd never felt so old and pathetic in his entire life. his voice is raw from crying by the time a light turns on. he flinches as his eyes, even through his eyelids, are assaulted by the sudden brightness. he tries to groan, tries to complain, but no sound comes out. he hears a soft gasp, and a quiet 'oh, _rick_ ', before light footsteps come closer to him.

the man blearily opens his eyes, and is only just barely able to make out the familiar shape of his grandson through his haze. he wants to tell the younger to go away, so he doesn't have to see his grandfather in such a state, but his throat refuses to work, and his arms feel as though they weigh a ton. he just blinks up through his tears, and through the fuzziness of the alcohol in his mind, up at the worried face of the teen.

he doesn't know when or how, but he is suddenly sitting on his bed, his grandson pushing a cup into his hands. he looks down, at the fizzling water, and then back up at the exasperated face of the teenage boy. the teen sighs out, halfheartedly rolling his eyes as he pushes the cup up towards the man's face. 'drink, rick. i-it'll help.'

the fizzling liquid does nothing to soothe the aching burn in his throat, but it settles into his stomach, and he feels it beginning to work out the nausea and his mind clears slightly. he looks at his grandson, who has brought up the chair from his desk to sit in front of him. the teenager's face is full of pity, and guilt, and pain, and a certain understanding that should not be on the face of someone so young. the man looks away, staring back down into the half-emptied cup.

'you have to d-drink it all, rick.' the high, worried voice of the younger startles the older out of his stupor. he looks back at the teen, and then down at his cup before downing the rest of the substance. he hears the teen stand, and the cup is taken from his hands, and set down on the floor beside him. the boy looks down at him, a small, comforting smile gracing his lips. 'c'mon, rick. let's get- let's get you to bed.'

the older suddenly realizes he is wearing no more than his wife beater, his pants and socks. he looks around to find his coat and shirt folded neatly on his desk, his belt resting atop it and his shoes sitting on the floor, beside it. he feels the gentle pressure of a hand on his chest, pushing him to lie down. before he does, his arms wrap around his grandson's waist, and his face buries into the younger's stomach. the teen stiffens for a second or two, before he hugs back, a hand running through his greasy, mussed hair.

'th-th-thank you, morty.' the older's voice is quiet, and muffled by the teen's shirt, but the younger hears it clearly, as though the words had been screamed rather than whispered. the teen's grip tightens, and he fights back the tears threatening to escape. 'it's alright, rick.' is all he can say.

the embrace is ended far too soon. the younger pushes away with a quiet chuckle. he urges the man to lay down, and he complies, very suddenly exhausted. his blanket is pulled over his body, but he hardly notices. hardly cares. he feels a slight pressure on his forehead, and what could have been a 'goodnight, rick' before footsteps and the soft clink of his doors closing signify that his grandson has left. he is very quickly pulled down into a deep and dreamless sleep.


End file.
